


Bounce

by Attasee



Series: The Mattress Chronicles [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Beds, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:18:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4519899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attasee/pseuds/Attasee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not that Stiles has been counting, but the guy with the scowl and the most wonderful eye brows in the universe has just walked through the front doors of his dad’s mattress shop for the fourth day running and Stiles just can’t help himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bounce

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably going to turn into a two part story because Derek won't shut up. I have a feeling the tags will change.
> 
> This story is all Ikea's fault. And also aren't mattresses expensive...
> 
> Thanks for the kudos <3 ... Also for some reason when I posted it some of the formatting messed up - I think have sorted that out now...

At exactly 11am Stiles parts the wooden blinds that hang in the window of The Mattress Sheriff’s break room and squints through the gap the action created. Scanning the shop floor, his eagle eyes drift naturally towards the entrance and to where in precisely thirty seconds, a man wearing a made to measure suit, blue silk tie, pale blue shirt and the owner of the most wonderful eye brows in the universe will walk into sight.

“Dude, quick, he’s here again,” Stiles half whispers, half shouts across the break room as a dark shadow fills the gap the opening in the glass door has created.

The man who’s walked in isn’t tall – maybe the same height as Stile,s but he’s broad and bulky and well...

“Who?” Scott finally replies from the sofa bed Stiles insisted his Dad install on their first day of work there.

Stiles nods towards the shop floor. “Growly lookingdark haired guy? Comes in, tries the all mattresses – _all of them_ – then leaves empty handed?”he tells him, sweeping his hand in front of his face to emphasise the point.

Scott shakes his head. He lifts his shoulders up at the same time in an _‘I dunno’_ kind of pose, “can’t say I’ve noticed to be honest.”

Stiles tuts at his best friend and turns back towards the window.

How could he not notice?

It was his job!

Stiles’ job at The Mattress Sheriff was simply to lug stuff, about whereas Scott (it turned out much to Stiles’ and even Scott’s surprise) had quite the natural aptitude for selling beds and therefore _should_   have been the one to notice these things, not Stiles. Yet somehow the guy had managed to visit the shop every day this week and not once had he been cohered into buying anything. _Hell_ , even Janice on the reception desk commented on the frequency of his visits only yesterday and she usually couldn’t see further than the end of her nose.

“Are you for real?” Stiles says turning towards his best friend for a second time – still not quite believing it. “He’s been in every day this week. He wanders around the shop floor and then leaves,”

Scott shakes his head again.

Huffing, Stiles parts the blinds a third time. His eyes are now wide as he pretends not to peer _(leer?)_ once more through the small gap and out onto the shop floor.

The guy, Stiles can see, is muttering under his breath and taking quick but thorough glances around the shop floor and towards where the break room is located.

“Holy Shit,” he cries, mouth hanging open as he stares through the gap. He quickly drops the blind and backs away slowly from the window. “I think he saw me.”

“Who?”

Stiles points a finger towards the shop floor, “Suit Guy? Haven’t you been listening?”

Scott shakes his head once more. “Sorry,” he replies weakly. Stiles is getting the impression that today is going to be the day he gets nowhere quickly with his best friend. The dude had walked in that morning looking like he hadn’t slept a wink and was ever so slightly hungover.

“You’re useless,” Stiles mutters, scowling at Scott and waving him off.

Finally Stiles takes a step back towards the blinds and parts them again. It comes as no surprise that the route the guy is taking is the same one he’s used each visit (not that Stiles has been paying much attention - obviously) and like he has done every day this week is now idly running his fingers along each mattress he passes, casually stopping when one catches his eye.

“I can’t believe you didn’t notice,” he says disappointedly. “Shit bro, Dad’s gonna bust a lung if he doesn’t buy something soon. Haven’t you seen the way Pa Stilinski gets all red faced at 11 o’clock each day?”

This time Scott laugh's in reply. The horse chuckle is quickly followed by a hacking cough then silence…then…“bro, your dad gets red faced about most things in this shop – _all the time_ ,” Scott murmurs. He pauses like he is thinking – or possibly in pain (who knows) – before answering again. “Don’t you remember the way he stared down Alison’s family when they couldn’t decide if they wanted a Tempurpedic or a spring mattress? And don’t get me started on the whole Queen / King Size argument he had with Lydia.”

Stiles nods, impressed that Scott has finally managed to do more than shake his head. As for the incident, of course he remembers it. The debacle still makes him shudder even now, six months later. “Arh the great Martin verses Stilinski rumble in the mattress jungle,” Stiles replies fondly, tapping his chin as he does so. “Do you know someone actually called the cops? Parish tried to arrest Lydia for disturbing the peace.”

 “No shit?” Scott replies dropping the magazine to his chest and sounding surprised. “That must have happened after I escaped.”

Stiles nods. “No _. Shit._ Dad ended up giving her a discount on the King so there was no bad publicity.”

“I bet that hurt him more - the discount – not the police getting involved.”

Stiles sighs and turns back towards the window. He scans the room and flicks one of the wooden slats against the window only to see the guy has moved again and is now currently testing the bouceability (© The Mattress Sheriff) of the cheap mattresses his Dad hides in the corner. “He didn’t sleep for three days wondering how he was going to recoup his ten percent.”

“I bet.”

Stiles however can’t possibly bring himself to give a shit about any of that at the moment.

_No siree._

Not when he can see Suit Guy moving again and is now half way round the showroom weaving his way through the extensive selection of bed frames and mattresses.

Stiles stares at him with a sigh. God the guy was beautiful. Much more beautiful than the usual clientele that shopped there – for a kick off he was wearing a suit – hardly anyone – which the exception of a few of Stiles’ ex-teachers wore suits in Beacon Hills. Even his dad wore a white Mattress Sheriff Polo Shirt with his name embroidered on it. It was probably why the guy stood out so much. Like a rose in a thorn bush… _or something_ Stiles thinks before shaking his head out for sounding so pathetic.

It’s clear though the guy is searching for something or someone with every stride he takes. He meticulously studies each bed frame, each mattress to the point where Stiles wants to hurry him up and move him along to the next.

“Maybe he needs some help? What do you think?” Stiles asks, not really expecting an answer. A ridiculous idea is forming in his head that he knows will get into trouble for. Scott _is_ the salesman out of the two of them after all...and Stiles has promised his dad on more than one occasion he would stay away from the till, but can he really pass up an opportunity gifted to him so perfectly?

Really?

Really?

Absolutely not.

Stepping back from the window Stiles attempts to un-jumble the mad, ridiculous thoughts that are now the freshly laid cornerstones of a dubious plan named ‘ _lets get hot suit dude to buy something’_ by first searching for his Dad the owner and proprietor of The Mattress Sheriff. Scanning the shop Stiles finds him busy dealing with a family who are buying a child’s red racing car bed whilst ambitiously trying to stop said child from testing the spring capacity of anything with a flat surface. The whole scene briefly makes Stiles chuckle and he pauses to listen through the open office window as the family try to unsuccessfully wrangle more of a discount out of the crafty bastard.

_“Will you do a deal if we buy them together?”_

_“The best I can do is 10%”_

_“15?”_

_“12, and that’s my final offer.”_

Stiles chuckles again, more at the bartering this time. He knows his dad can go to 15% no problem, but not if he can help it.

None of this helps Stiles though. He lifts his head to the window for the umpteenth time, _this time_ parting the wooden venetian blinds wider so he can see more of the shop.

By now the guy has made it to section where they keep the four poster frames and is walking along the rows slowly and methodically one at a time. For Stiles the action is a little hypnotising. The guys gait is long and he moves gracefully. Stiles can almost sense the power (and wealth) rolling off the guy’s body and to be quite frank it’s intoxicating.

Pushing away from the window Stiles takes a deep breath as he spots the guy glance over in his direction once more. Plan C (there is no Plan A).

Stiles rolls his shoulder releasing the odd shaped knot that’s forming in his gut.

He can do this.

In theory he can anyway.

He looks down to where Scott is still lying. “Scott? I’m going in,” he declares as casually as a Stilinski can. He then quickly runs a hand over the top of his buzz cut for good luck.

_Did he look okay?_

_Did anyone care?_

_Would Suit Man care?_

Stiles tuts loudly at such a ridiculous thought.  Of course Suit Guy isn’t going to care.

But if he did…

With a push and a burst of confidence Stiles opens the door to the office stepping out onto the shop floor, the coolness of the air conditioning hitting his face as he does so.

Usually he stands at the edges of the shop and is only called upon to help lift and carry shit to the tills. He isn’t really a salesman – not even close – contrary to his dad’s opinion it isn’t in Stiles’ blood to sell stuff. Today though, he moves onto the shop floor as gracefully as an inexperienced salesperson can do – one foot in front of the other – as his non uniform black checkered Vans squeak noisily on the laminated floor.

“Hi,” he says nervously to the back of the perfect charcoal grey suit jacket. “Need any help?”

As an opening sales pitch Stiles knows it is shit but sounds good. It’s just one of those things people say whether they think potential customers need help or not. He goes with it anyway nervously rubbing his hand down the sides of the thick material of his work trousers as he does so.

For a brief moment Suit Guy (because Stiles can’t think of anything better to call him) doesn’t move. Okay, so he may have a hand on one of the four posts that make up the Regency Hall four poster frame (one of their best sellers), he may also be rubbing said post  rub slowly with said hand, but apart from that he stays silent and still.

“Sir? You need any help?” Stiles repeats quietly, waiting for a signal Suit Guy has heard him. Close up and from behind the man has the biggest broadest shoulders Stiles has ever seen and a ridiculous urge to rub his face all over the soft expensive material comes over him making him blush embarrassingly quickly.

“Sir?” Stiles repeats to the guys back but there is no answer.  _Ignorant bastard._

“Okay… well listen… I’ll leave you too it,” he continues the blush on his face and bravado quickly disappearing. “I’ll be over there if you need anything, in the office. The partitioned off section…in the corner, with the blue door, and the blinds up at the window. Not that I am a salesman of course, _apparently not in these shoes anyway_ , but I could help you a little – I sort of know the products – in my blood an’ all that. Regency Hall this one.” Stiles points at the bed frame, “good bed, sturdy, metal frame as you can see. Selling you one though? That’s more my dad’s job, or Scott’s – he’s earns good commission – I just lug shit about. Because yeah, college and all stuff.”

By now Stiles’ lips are moving but honestly he can’t stop them and he briefly thinks it's just as well the guy hasn't yet turned around to answer him. Nothing says _‘complete idiot’_ than a rambling stock boy out of his depth does it? “Okay… well dude just let me know,” Stiles says as he begins to back pedal, letting out a huff as he almost crashes into the metal post of the Regency Hall.

Sure he’s no salesperson, his opening line was good and it’ll secretly please his dad no end knowing he might have actually listened to one of their serious lunchtime mattress selling chats. But to what end though? The guy still hasn’t turned around or said anything.

 _Well fuck him_ , Stiles thinks as he starts back towards the office and to Scott who he suspects is pissing himself laughing on the other side of the window.

“Wait,” a voice suddenly says and Stiles stops dead in his tracks. It might be Suit Guy but Stiles isn’t sure as he has never heard him speak, only mutter under his breath and yeah, lip reading…

“The Regency Hall you say?” the voice asks – the tone has a hint of ‘something’ in it Stiles can’t quite place. It’s firm, slightly bossy with a hint of New York in it.

“One of our best sellers,” Stiles mumbles turning his body around only to find the guy still has his back to him. _F_ _uck_ if Stiles can’t think of anything else to say though. Not when he is in the middle of a full Suit-Guy-close-up-experience for the first time ever.

In fact it’s a long moment before Stiles can think sensibly enough to form an additional coherent response that may make sense. In fact just as he is opening his mouth to say said ‘sensible thing’ the manchooses the exact same moment to turn around and unleash a ray gun of fucking gorgeous at Stiles.

Swoon? Stiles is already fighting the urge from fainting dramatically on the floor in some sort of Jane-Austin-Mr-Darcy-wet-shirt-gush.

From far away he’s seen a hint of it (the gorgeousness that is). The dark hair, closely cropped on the sides, longer on top, beautiful bushy eyebrows he could happily kiss all day given a chance and a jaw so firm and sharp Stiles could probably open beer bottles on it, but he'd never been this close. Not once. Even in the shower/bed/stock room scenario’s he dreamt of most nights.

“Does it come in a California king?”

The question throws Stiles a little, jarring him away from the beginnings of the _‘throw me up against the fucking stockroom wall’_ scenario he has going on. In his head he is kissing eyebrows and making sweet love to a jawline, not discussing California Kings. “Pardon?”

Suit Guy smiles and Stiles quickly dismisses the idea the man can possibly read minds given the way his lips turn up at the edges. “Does it come in a California King?” He repeats.

Stiles sucks in a lung full of air and nods, because what a fucking stupid question, the damn thing as a sign on it. “This is the Cali. King,” he replies.

“And how much bigger is it than a normal King?”

Stiles now wishes he’d paid even more attention to his Dad when new stock arrived and when he held the weekly staff quiz on beds and mattresses's because honestly? He hasn’t a clue. 

“It’s a little bigger,” Stiles says with a cough. He even holds both of his index fingers and thumbs up inches apart as a visual representation. “About that much.”

Suit Guy nods firmly taking another look at the bed, then Stiles. “I’ll take it.”

It takes another moment for Stiles to process the words lost in Suit Guys eyebrows momentarily (it’s as if he is working on delay today). “What? Shit? What?” _Not possible. No way_ he thinks, and Stiles quickly casts a glance over to his dad for _what_ he doesn’t know.

Help?

Backup?

A talk on wolf pack hierarchy as seen in a BBC Documentary? (His dad is obsessed with them)

Stiles knows he must look like a complete dickhead stood there, mouth open wondering what the fuck is going on, “you want to buy this? From me??” He exclaims all professionalism shooting out of the window. He then pauses to catch his breathe a little in an attempt to get – well – his head around it. “Hang on,” he starts. Something here isn’t right - Stiles is a clever guy even if he says so himself, but he just can’t put his finger on what. “You have been in here every day this week and then you decide like that? To buy it on a whim? From me? Like that?”

Suit Guy simply shrugs at him and now there is _even more_  of a hint of _‘something’_ in the shrug that Stiles can’t place. The look Suit Guy is shooting him is a little cocky and edgy and comes accompanied by that fixed smirk again.

“I’m a go-getting kinda guy normally but on this occasion not on whim no, like you say I’ve been in every day this week ‘choosing’. And what’s wrong with buying it from you? You work here don’t you?”

It takes Stiles a few seconds to realize that Suit Guy is already walking off before he can give him his answer and because Stiles is some sort of glutton for punishment he feels he can’t do anything _other_ than follow those big shoulders. To add insult to injury the deep voice Suit Guy is using? It’s threatening to bury itself somewhere below Stiles’ ball sack and loose itself.

“Ye-.”

Suit Guy doesn’t Stiles a chance to answer him though. “Let’s go sort out a mattress too shall we. Lead on McDuff.”

Even though Stiles should be leading he is soon trailing behind the guy like some sort of lap dog begging for attention. “What type are you looking for?” he finally asks. “We do them all.”

Suit Guy doesn’t answer instead he makes his way towards the section of very expensive mattresses Stiles’ dad would throw a conniption over if Stiles ever attempted to sell one.

Not that Stiles can’t sell one mind, he’s The Mattress Sheriff son for fucks sake but the commission his dad would need to pay him afterwards would be bigger than Stiles weekly wage and that was a definite no go area.

No, these mattresses were usually only sold by his Dad. How else could John ‘The Mattress Sheriff’ Skilinski declare himself the richest man in Beacon Hills for the tenth year running? It certainly wasn’t allowing Stiles (or Scott come to think of it) anywhere near these babies.

All reasonable thought is forgotten though when Stiles is almost blinded (yes blinded – he uses the same time later to Scott when he describes the incident) by the sight of Suit Guy launching himself onto an Henley Firm Tone Organic Memory Foam Mattress with the anti-sagging feature, whilst undertaking a smooth coordinated move that involves simultaneously placing his feet up on the plastic protector strip that runs along the bottom.

 _“Oh boy.”_ Stiles whispers to himself as he watches the momentum bounces the dude up and down. _“Oh boy. Oh boy.”_ The scene is a pure joy to watch.

“If you prefer a firm one…?” Stiles spurts. Because _fuck me._ “That’s a firm one right there,” he tells the guy pointing at the mattress label. For a brief moment it actually feels like Stiles’ brain has disconnected from his body just from watching the scene play out in front of him. Seeing the guy throw himself on through the air and bounce ever so beautifully makes all Stiles’ bones turn to jello. Suit Guys legs are so long, toned and fit perfectly on the 72 x 84 California King demonstrator that Stiles just can’t even…

Suit Guy nods in his direction disrupting Stiles' daydreaming. His eyes then drift to the name badge on Stiles’ chest, “always Stiles.”

_“Ohfuckinghell.”_

The burn is now creeping up Stiles neck before he can stop it and he swallows hard, he couldn’t even lie to himself that he’s having this reaction. There is just something so something about Suit Guy that he can’t seem to tear his eyes from. “Erm… yeah,” he replies because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Except…

“I’m not really a good salesman,” Stiles declares suddenly, pushing his hands into his trouser pockets. “It’s not really my job; I just lug shi- stuff about. It…it should be my dad you’re dealing with really, he knows more than me. That’s him, over there, with the white polo shirt on.”

The man ignores Stiles’ gesticulations however and places a hand on the mattress next to him, palm down and gestures for Stiles to come and sit next to him.

What the fuck?

Stiles pauses looking at the man on the bed not 100% sure what the guy is suggesting but similarly is 1000% on board with it to, “but my dad though..?” Stiles asks nervously, as one of those bushy eyebrows lifts ever so slowly in his direction. The action is now almost a challenge.

“Come on Stiles.” Suit Guy says, now throwing his name about with wild abandonment.

Stiles steps closer to the mattress; first taking a tentative look around the shop floor then once more back at Suit Guy, “are you serious?”

Suit Guy repeats the tapping motion on top of the mattress again with his hand, “perfectly. Call me Derek by the way; you can’t possibly call me Suit Guy forever.”

Stiles doesn’t think he has ever moved as fast as he does the moment the guy moves his hand away from Stiles’ side of the bed. He lands with a bounce, his legs tangling briefly in themselves as the momentum takes him over and into the soft material of _Derek’s_ lap.

“Holy shit!” Stiles yells finally realizing what ‘Derek’ said as he extracts himself from a taut thigh muscle.His head snaps up in the mist undignified manner ever as he does so. “You know I call you Suit Guy?”

Derek nods slowly. His lips are already queuing up another smirk, Stiles can tell, “oh boy… my dad is gonna shit a brick.”

This time rather than a smirk it’s an all-out laugh from Derek. “I doubt it, he’s far too busy,” he says, gesturing to the same family and the red car bed and adding a wink of his eye. “Plus, I’d rather test mattress out with you not him.”

Stiles almost swoons in response and tries for the next hour not to think about how good that thigh felt under his hand.

That same hour later Stiles is riding on the crest of a wave of mattress testing. He is more exhausted than he has ever been before from innocently bouncing on the mattresses whilst Derek hasn’t even broken a sweat.

“Is this one okay?”

“Too firm.”

“Really?”

“This?”

“A little soft.”

“This one is like silk under my ass.”

“Your ass is obviously particular about what touches it am I right?”

_“Dude.”_

“Too expensive?”

“Money isn’t an issue.”

“I don’t like the pattern on this one.”

“It’s a mattress for God’s sake Stiles.”

“Does one really need lots of under bed storage?”

“Fuck knows, mine hides all my po- DVD’s.”

“What about this?”

“Too bouncy.”

“Too soft.”

Finally Stiles has had enough and leads Derek back to the very first mattress he had jumped on.

“Perfect. This one.”

“You sure?”

Derek nods.

Stiles whistles at the price tag - even he is surprised about how much it costs. “All 3,566.00 dollars of it?”

“Yes all 3,566.00 dollars of it.”

“Plus the frame?”

“Plus the frame.”

Stiles looks down at the Henley Firm Tone Organic Memory Foam Mattress (with the anti-sagging feature) then back at Derek, “you know the first one we tested,” he protests.

 Derek nods again. “I know. I have to admit it caught my eye Monday when I first came in but needed to make sure.”

“Monday?”

“Monday.”

“Make sure?”

“Make sure.”

“But-.”

“Do you deliver?” Derek replies cutting Stiles off.

Stiles nods his head.

“Same day?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Derek replies. He hands Stiles a small card he has produced from nowhere. “This is me, my new address, 8pm tonight.”

The lettering is gold and embossed. Stiles gasps slightly as he runs his fingers over the name written on it. _“Derek Hale, Owner and Proprietor, Top and Tail Mattresses, NYC?”_ It reads. “Are you actually shitting me? You sell beds and mattresses? Was I being tested? What the hell are you doing here?” because that’s just not right.

Derek nods, the smirk slowly returning. “No, not _shitting_ you at all. Yes I do, because I can and 8pm, tonight.”

“But-.”

“Stiles. Listen. 8pm. Like I said, I’d made my mind up Monday when I came to scope out the range here. It’s just taken me a few days to test it out.”

“Test out?”

Derek almost seems to hum his reply. “Yes… Test out the ‘tester’, the mattress and the frame for firmness...Now Skilinski...do you accept cash or card?”


End file.
